


Gifts of Time and Love

by fluffernutter8



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: (could add plenty of other Christmas tags as suggested by AO3 but I'll stop there), Christmas Fluff, Christmas realism, Established Relationship, F/M, Mentions of canon abuse, compliant with the Veronica Mars novels as far as I'm aware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Hunter is coming to visit, and one might say that the Christmas spirit is alive andtoowell in the Mars/Echolls household.





	Gifts of Time and Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually for two prompts (I am a rule breaker): "Sibling closeness over the holidays - adult Veronica and Logan planning for or celebrating a holiday with Hunter. Or really anything where Hunter is included in family togetherness" and "Logan and Veronica, _let’s dress up our dog as a reindeer_ AU." I apologize if the reindeer prompter dislikes Hunter or the Hunter prompter dislikes...reindeer or dogs in costume? Hopefully someone can enjoy?
> 
> (More rule breaking: Logan's squad in this is VFA-81, the Sunliners, because if the creators of this media can ignore all reality about the Navy then so can I and for some reason stealing a squad from Virginia made more sense to me than just making up a motto for an existing one.)
> 
> Title from this quote by Peg Bracken: "Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas."
> 
> This work is dedicated to the Boston Public Library Overdrive app, which enabled me to download _Mr. Kiss and Tell_ at 9:30 on a Saturday night for canon checking purposes. Please don't picket if I've gotten something wrong.

“Remind me again,” says Logan, “why we have to do this? Also why we have to do this when her nails haven’t been trimmed in a while? And maybe we could just add onto the list a well-rounded discussion about when and why I started thinking about a dog’s nail trimming schedule.”

Veronica carefully guides Pony’s right front paw through the sleeve of their (Veronica’s) latest Amazon purchase. Logan sits cross-legged on the hardwood in front of her, wearing jeans and a brown, long-sleeved shirt. He is in charge of the entire rest of Pony’s body, everything that Veronica isn’t currently holding. Their dog isn’t making things easy. She’d been smart enough to figure out early on what they were trying to do to her, and was expressing her distaste with complete clarity.

“We’re doing it,” Veronica says, addressing boyfriend, dog, or both, “because Hunter will love it.”

Making sure to keep a good grip on Pony as Veronica moves to work on the left front paw, Logan looks around the living room, which is covered in enough lights and wreaths that he thinks they’re single-handedly supporting HomeGoods. They don’t have a fireplace, but the stockings are hung in a neat line, Veronica’s first (Logan isn’t under the illusion that he’s the head of this household) and Pony’s small one at the end. A tree for which they’d measured precisely sits in the corner by the biggest windows: it nearly, but not quite, touches the ceiling, its branches spreading wide without crowding the room. There would have been fake snow if not for Pony’s tendency to eat the non-edible. Your significantly above basic winter wonderland.

“Hunter will already love it,” Logan says. “I unsubscribed him from _Better Homes and Gardens_. He’ll be out of synch with the big holiday trends, so I’m sure the decor will pass muster. And–” he sniffs the air dramatically, as if he has to work to smell the cinnamon and peppermint in the air. “If I recall correctly, cookies are the fast pass to the heart of the under-twelve set.” He tilts his head, reconsidering. “And maybe the over-twelve. I’ve had your cookies.”

Veronica just looks at him, mostly waspish but with enough humor that he isn’t worried, and finishes adjusting Pony’s outfit. She’d wrapped up a big case – a stakeouts-‘til-the-wee-hours, lucky-if-I-get-a-shower kind of case – just a few days earlier, right before Logan's leave had started, so they've been rushing around in a last minute flurry since, decorating and purchasing gifts. He knows that Veronica can be a surprising Christmas elf, but she hasn’t really raised the bar this year as much as grabbed the bar and used it to beat the holiday into submission.

“I just want Hunter to have a really good Christmas,” Veronica says. Logan is tactful enough (and has learned from past mistakes) not to mention that this is technically a post-Christmas, beginning of winter vacation celebration. They both know that Veronica could have convinced Lianne to send Hunter earlier, but she hadn’t. They’d spent actual Christmas at Keith’s, and Hunter had opened their main present (the Xbox he’d hinting about; Lianne could afford to swing some new games) at home in Tuscon.

Veronica pets Pony, gives her a treat that Logan’s aching hands don’t entirely feel she deserves, and nods for him to let go. The dog rushes immediately to a clear space and tries to find a way to reverse their careful dressing job.

Logan stands, pulling Veronica gently against his side. He softly moves her hair behind her ear and kisses her temple. “Hunter’s going to have a great Christmas.” Maybe she hears the truth in his voice, because she finally smiles at him. He smiles back, wider, crooked. “It’s just that, all these years, I thought the Christmas spirit was a figure of speech, not literal Yuletide possession. Guess that A in Freshman Comp doesn’t mean as much as I thought.”

Veronica pokes his shoulder. “It’s a sin to lie on Christmas,” she tells him solemnly. “Every time you overstate your college grades, an angel loses its wings.”

“Clarence can rest easy.” He lifts his hands in protest. “Professor Oates knew I could tell my allegories from my allusions.”

“You know, I could probably dig up your term grades,” she says, gazing up thoughtfully. “I’m pretty handy with a shovel, and everything _is_ online these days, after all…”

“Hunter will have a way better Christmas is we’re not late to pick him up from the airport,” Logan interrupts hastily. He goes to get their jackets off the coat rack – it might not exactly be Bing Crosby/Irving Berlin dream weather, but the temperature has dropped to a respectable southern California 47 degrees. His turned back hides his smile; five years after they’d found each other again, it still strikes him when they can joke about the past without feeling the cut of it.

Pony, recognizing preparations for Outside, runs over, her antlered hood bouncing. By the time they’ve calmed her down with a toy, they have to move fast to avoid actually being late.

“Hey, Veronica,” Logan says, snuffing the flames of the Yankee Candle store that has taken over their house as Veronica shuts off the kitchen lights. “You think at some point you’ll tell me why you’re trying to be Santa and all his overworked elves this year?”

She finishes with the lights and goes to close the bedroom and bathroom doors so any havoc Pony might wreak will be minimal. When she joins him again, she kisses his cheek. “I think I have heard that this is the season for miracles,” she says lightly, and snags the keys from his hand as she walks past him out the door.

* * *

Seven hours later, Veronica stands in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and shakes her head. _Anytime, anyplace, my ass_ , she thinks, although she wouldn’t say it in front of Logan. He takes his job seriously, and apparently that means having to take your squad’s motto and even its ugly retro logo seriously.

It apparently does not mean retaining the ability to stay up later than a pre-teen when not on active duty.

When she’d left ten minutes ago to make more popcorn, Logan and Hunter had been engrossed in Home Alone, movie three in their Christmas classic marathon. Now the Wet Bandits are still making fools of themselves on-screen, but the audience had passed out. Logan has his head tipped back and one arm flopping over the arm of the couch, while Hunter leans against his side, wrapped in the blanket he and Veronica had been sharing.

Veronica returns the popcorn to the kitchen. She stops to get Pony out of her reindeer costume, the process taking far shorter than getting her into it had. Logan might disagree, but for Veronica’s money, seeing Hunter’s face as he came into the apartment had been worth all the comparison shopping and puppy wrestling.

The living room, lit by TV and twinkle lights, is still mostly its neat, festive self. The wrapping paper has been thrown away, and Hunter’s haul sits stacked beside the tree: box sets of the Harry Potter books and DVDs, wireless headphones, some kind of multi-use electronic invention kit Logan said all his squadmates’ kids were asking for, a couple of board games, a case for the guitar at home that Hunter loves; Logan had picked out the last, and it had been declared "awesome!" although Veronica felt like the deck was rigged there, as Hunter thinks everything about Logan is awesome. The minimal remains of their Christmas cookie and homemade personal pizza dinner are still scattered on the coffee table, but Veronica decides to just hope she can get up earlier than the dog tomorrow; she doesn’t want to deal with them now.

She shakes Logan’s shoulder instead, and he jerks to wakefulness. “Easy, sailor,” she says quietly, tipping her head toward Hunter. “You knocked him out, you can put him to bed.”

Logan gives a kind of husky grunt, rubbing a hand over his face, then maneuvers himself out to pick up Hunter. Veronica isn’t sure if he couldn’t figure out a way to get the kid disentangled from his blanket, or if he just thought Hunter would be more comfortable with it in bed, but it trails a little at they head down the hall.

They’d gone looking for the new place when Veronica had started to get interested in the idea of Hunter coming to visit. Veronica’s old apartment had only the one bedroom, and neither of them thought a sleeping bag or couch situation was ideal. They’d planned on using the second room for other guests, until Hunter had come to Veronica on his third visit and shyly asked if he was allowed to have Pony sleep on the bed with him.

“I know that someone else might be allergic to the fur,” he’d said. “But maybe if we wash everything, it’ll be okay?”

“I seem to recall thriving without a guest bedroom in the last place,” Logan had said when Veronica told him the story later that night. “If anyone comes needing a place, I’ll be happy to give them a personal hotel tour. I think I still have my Official Neptune Grand Greeter badge.”

“Have you been cheating on me with new friends, dumpling?” Veronica asked. “Because basically everyone I know is local, and last I checked we were on plenty of avoid-at-all-costs lists. Not sure who we thought would be visiting.”

Two years later, Hunter has decorated his bedroom at their place: a couple of posters, copies of some of his favorite books, a set of soft sheets. Veronica had bought some picture frames last year and on his next trip, he’d brought a photo of his friends from home, and had asked Veronica to print one of the shots of the two of them with Logan at the spring carnival. Later, Veronica had noticed he’d added a picture of him and Lianne at his last birthday too.

Logan deposits Hunter in his bed, brushing a hand over the kid’s hair. Pony, knowing the routine when her favorite mini-owner is around, jumps up on the bed, mushing the comforter around with her paws before settling down. Logan pets her head too as he walks past. He’s almost at the doorway before he realizes that Veronica is there.

“You think we’ll get in trouble with CPS for skipping tooth brushing on the first night?” Logan yawns.

“Only if Pony drops them a tip on her way to ratting us out to the ASPCA.”

“You were right about the outfit, though,” he says, coming to stand next to her. “Are we still doing ‘Veronica was right’ pancakes, or have we moved on to waffles?”

“You do make a decent pancake,” she says, but it comes out distracted. Her hair slips across her face, but she just tilts her head, eyes on Hunter. After a minute she says, “I always had my dad. I knew he’d be there no matter what, and I was always right about that.”

“Of course you were.” The shift in her tone shakes the sleepiness from him. “Hey. Of course you were.” He tries to catch her eye but she’s still focused on Hunter, sleeping heavy and oblivious in the dark of his room.

“Hunter doesn’t have that. His dad’s a criminal. His sister sped right past certifiable and got herself certified. And Mom…” She does brush her hair back now, sharp and businesslike. “I just want him to know that, no matter what, he has someone, like I always had Dad. He has us.”

Fifteen years ago, maybe Logan wouldn’t have said anything. Fifteen years ago, Veronica probably wouldn’t have wanted to hear it. Now Logan says softly, “I know that there might not be anything she can do to make it up to you, but I think she’s doing okay with Hunter. Of course we’ll be here. Of course we’ll give him good memories and someplace he knows he can come if he needs it. But I think they’re doing okay.”

He holds still, counting breaths – his own, Hunter’s, Veronica’s – softer than the Darth Vader sound when he’s in his cockpit, but just as essential. After a dozen, Veronica leans against him. Another dozen and she looks up at him. “Promise?”

“Not my promise to keep,” he says. “But as a multiple recipient of the Veronica Mars Second Chance Award, I will promise that she’s trying hard. And if something does happen, Hunter will have us. He’ll have you. I always said you’d make a pretty awesome dad.”

She knocks her head against his side, half warning, half affectionate. “Bribery’s a good start. Junk food, and letting him stay up late. Fun traditions like that. It’s how the pros do it. I went to a seminar by DJ Khaled.”

Logan thinks about the traditions of his family, the rituals of ice in a glass and belts in a closet, of imported trees and hired carolers and a catering budget larger than most people’s yearly rent, elaborately cold showmanship trying its hardest to masquerade as love.

It’s incalculable, how quickly he’ll take personal pizzas and Veronica’s meticulous tree selection and an hour of dog wrangling over any of that.

“We’ll start getting Hunter to coproduce tracks tomorrow,” he tells her, and hopes she knows what he means. He thinks maybe she does; she takes his hand as they leave Hunter and Pony to sleep and move toward their own bedroom.

The house is warm and dim and the dog won’t be in their bed tonight. Unable to resist, Logan says, “So _this_ is what the ‘and to all a good night’ part was talking about,” and Veronica laughs and shuts their door.


End file.
